“It’s not in the information I could access,” Ryder said, “so I left a message for the local detective, but it’s not even three in the morning there.”
Ryder gestured to a closed whiteboard. “You can check what I’ve added to the board and what I’m still missing, but close it up when you’re done. I don’t want staff to see where we are.”
Michael opened the two doors and looked at the timeline that Ryder had created. He took a photo with his phone, then closed it. “This is good,” Michael said.
“Catherine said Garrett didn’t meet his partner here. That they have too much trust built up for this to be a new relationship. Which suggests that he met her somewhere between Los Angeles and here.”
The timeline was almost complete, but there were a few gaps.
Seven and a half years ago, Garrett had left Los Angeles for Scottsdale, Arizona, where he worked for fourteen months at an exclusive resort. Catherine had spoken to his supervisor, who refreshed himself with Garrett’s file. Good employee, rarely tardy, no serious complaints from staff or guests. He hadn’t remembered him personally. At the time, Garrett worked as a bartender. Next to that entry, Ryder had written:
Dennis DeMarco, 48, from Seattle, Washington, died of asphyxiation from possible accidental drug overdose in his suite. Reid left two weeks later.
“But the police didn’t rule DeMarco’s death a homicide.”
“Still under investigation, but a cold case and not getting any attention,” Ryder said. “I want to know if Reid worked the night that DeMarco died.”
“If he did, was he the one who told police the CEO was flirting? Would he have known the woman? Or was this how they met?” Michael wondered out loud.
After Scottsdale there was a six-month gap before Garrettended up working as a bartender at a hotel casino in Las Vegas. That gap could have been because of hospitality closures in 2020. He was there for a year, then had a brief stint in Dallas before taking a maintenance position at a major convention hotel in Nashville, which lasted just over two years. After, there was a year-long gap before he took a job as a bartender in New Orleans. Ryder had a question mark andTexaswritten during that time gap.
“Does it seem odd to you that he moved back and forth from bartending to maintenance?” Michael asked.
Ryder shrugged. “He has experience in both. Maybe it’s whatever position they were hiring. I’ve reached out to each of the supervisors to get a copy of his application. Especially the first job in Scottsdale—they would have asked for references or previous employment. Brian gave us his application for the Shoals, but the only references were his supervisors in New Orleans and Nashville.”
“It’s a good thread,” Michael said, though he sounded more confident than he felt. How was this deep dive into Reid’s background going to find Matt and Kara? Each day—eachhour—they didn’t find them, the chances of their survival went down exponentially.
None of the victims had lasted more than four days.
Ryder glanced at Michael, looked as if he wanted more reassurance, but Michael didn’t have anything left in the well. He was already walking an emotional thin line. “Anything you need, let me know,” Michael said. “I’m meeting Mrs. Thomas in a few minutes. She’s an early riser.”
He left before Ryder could say anything else. Michael didn’t want anyone to tell him they would find his missing team members, and he didn’t have any optimism to share. He had to keep working, gather information, do everything feasible to locate them. Action would find them. Hope wouldn’t get them anywhere.
Mrs. Thomas was waiting for Michael in the lobby as they had arranged. She was in her early sixties with dyed red hair and pale blue eyes. Trim and tan, she wore white cotton pants and a filmy blue blouse over a white tank top. “We can use an office to talk,” he suggested.
“No,” she said with a smile. “It’s a beautiful morning, I think we should sit outside.”
She put her arm through his as if they’d been friends for years, and escorted him through the lobby to a small private patio on the other side of the restaurant. A short brick wall separated them from the sand.
“I was very surprised to have a message from the FBI this morning.”
“And I was surprised that you responded so quickly. Thank you.”
“I’m a morning girl, always have been. Born and raised on a farm in North Texas.”
Michael didn’t want small talk, but if he was rude she might not talk at all. As if sensing his tension, she leaned back and asked, “So how can I help the FBI? Is it about the man who was arrested on Friday?”
“Partly. We’re talking to several guests about what they saw and heard over the last week. You had a conversation with Kara Quinn—she was going by Kara Costa—at the gym one day last week?”
“The cute little blonde girl? Oh, yes, what a sweetheart. And I never guessed that she was a police officer!”
“Word travels fast,” Michael said.
“Well, everyone was talking about it on Friday, and Mr. Valdez was very forthcoming when I asked him what was going on, then I talked to Kara again on Saturday.”
“Oh?” Michael asked. He hadn’t known that.
“Yes. She was getting coffee. An early riser, like me. I was reading the paper in the lobby because it was a bit cool. I reallyenjoy how the resort has a physical paper—I hate reading on those screens. Anyhoo, she said hi. I asked her to sit, said that Mr. Valdez told me she and her partner had arrested one of the employees. I wanted to know more, but she didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. I asked about her partner—she said he was sleeping in, but they were going to the sheriff’s office. I mentioned they didn’t have any time off? I mean, they were here for a whole week or more—longer than me! And didn’t they get a break? She said they were taking tomorrow off to enjoy the resort before going back to Virginia.”
